If the scent of a fresh ombre dye job, yoga-induced B.O., veganism and a level of hotness that refuses to give ladyparts a damn break wafted through the air just now, it’s the spirit of Hot Hobo Jesus.
Jared Leto can cut his hair, dye it bright pink or Joker green, embrace the rock star mohawk, or shave that shit off entirely and he’ll still be HHJ to me. And I will forever ship him with Lupita Nyong’o because the Lupeto magic of the 2014 awards season will never die. Hell, if they decide to get together, pop out a few babies and live happily ever after, you may see my ass back here for a good, old fashioned fangirl flail via keyboard.
Onto the objectification, all courtesy of Jared’s Instagram account.
I’m at a place in my personal fitness (fatness?) where all jeans are mom jeans. Pocket size and placement doesn’t matter. When you’re shaped like the cushions from a busted love seat someone with high hopes and terrible taste in home decor is trying to unload at a garage sale from the back (and can only cry in so many fitting rooms before dehydration sets in), you learn to embrace ass-covering tops instead of questing to find the perfect jeans. When you’re shaped like Sophia Bush, the search for jeans turns purposely mom and becomes Instagram-able.
Sophia has been on my girl crush list ever since I started watching Chicago P.D. Much like Jeffrey Dean Morgan yesterday, her dimples are worthy of some tent-pitching. Throw in the rest of the beauty, the charitable heart and the raspy voice and we have some eye and ear candy on our hands.
Name: Jeffrey Dean Morgan DOB: April 22, 1966 Age: 50 Fun Fact: He has a scar on his cheek from the time he was out riding his motorcycle and saw a man beating up a woman outside a 7-11. He stopped to break it up and the woman smashed him in the head with a bottle from behind.
Every time I see this man, I want to creeper sniff his chest hair, run my fingernails through that silver fox beard, and crawl into one of his dimples to set up camp. If that’s wrong, I don’t want to be right and if’s weird, just be glad I stopped with the camping thing before getting to an overtly sexual S’mores marshmallow creme metaphor.
JDM recently joined the cast of The Walking Dead as the Lucille-toting psychopath Negan. I have’t binge-watched an established TV show since Boo Boo and I got halfway through Game of Thrones and abandoned it in favor of him going to get his MBA, but once we get our shit together with that, TWD is next. With a decent amount of dedication (and re-watching the last twenty minutes of every episode because my husband’s ass fell asleep) we may be caught up in time to watch the season 6 cliffhanger resolution.
Onto the eye candy!
With wife Hilarie Burton of One Tree Hill fame (What the hell rock have I been living under because I didn’t know they were married and had a kid??)
Pinkie rings usually make me think of a slimy little character in a cheap suit played by Joe Pesci, but I’ll make an exception here.
The left one. That’s my camping dimple.
The unending Grey’s Anatomy storyline dedicated to the ghost of Denny Duquette featuring Izzie’s supernatural “I see dead people and totally bang them” sex would have been infinitely worse if JDM wasn’t bringing the plain white tee hotness.
Happy Monday, slores! I spent the weekend balls-deep in mulch, dirt, worms and lofty dreams of winning the lottery and hiring a troupe of beautiful, muscled handymen to touch said mulch, dirt, worms (and possibly my bathing suit area if I can talk my husband into an open marriage). During one of my frequent this sucks, I hate it breaks, I came across photos of Janelle Monáe at the Nordic State Dinner that too place Friday at the White House.
At some point last week, I mentioned how much I love women in menswear. If my horrible memory serves me for once in my goddamned life, it was on the Caitriona Balfe A.M. Eye Candy post. Janelle takes the feminized tuxedo to new levels. She even managed to color-coordinate without looking like she’s going to prom. Those red accessories. The stripe on the pants. That flawless lipstick. Her style gives me life on the regular, but looking at this outfit is like getting mouth-to-mouth on the beach from a hot lifeguard. Past a certain point, you don’t need the help, but if they’re offering, you won’t say no.
Please join me drooling over her glamour and accessories.
Name: Susan Sarandon DOB: October 4, 1946 in New York City, New York Age: 69 Fun Fact: She is part owner of Spin, a Ping-Pong social club chain with locations in San Francisco, Toronto, New York, Los Angeles and Chicago.
I’m imagining Piers Morgan sitting in a room somewhere, angrily fapping to photos of Susan walking the red carpet in Cannes. Since he fancies himself Chief of Appropriate Cleavage Policing, he has to be bursting a blood vessel over that slight areola slip in more ways than one. Piers already tried reading Susan and her lady pillows for filth when she showed up to present the In Memoriam segment at the Oscars with what he felt was an inappropriate amount of tit on display for the somberness of the occasion. Clearly Susan took what he said with a grain of salt and two tablets of instant amnesia because she doesn’t appear to have internalized his pearl clutching.
Susan walked the red carpet for Money Monster and kept Bernie Sanders close to her…um…heart on May 12.